Two Conditions
by ezontheI
Summary: Every day she winks at the hot barista who makes her coffee. Every day he smiles and says nothing. Until today. AH/AU SxE M for language/lemon


**I started this a little while ago, when the cute little idea popped into my mind, and finished it a couple of days ago. I hope you guys like it!**

* * *

"**In that moment, I was his, and he was mine."**

* * *

One hour and 15 minutes.

One hour, 15 minutes, and 32 seconds.

One hour, 15 minutes on the dot.

My barefoot rubbed over the cold linoleum floors of the office, each toe ticking off the seconds as they passed. The frigid weather, which had done absolutely nothing to brighten my mood, chilled the small room full of cubicles and worn out men and women. This day had passed so achingly slow, so every once and a while one of us would get up and pace the room, returning with a pot of coffee, which definitely wasn't enough.

Under the desk, I slipped my black pump back on and folded my legs, leaning back in my plush office chair. Matt, an executive assistant, peered over his cubicle and smiled at my typical jaded expression. Bringing his hands from behind his back, he pulled out a stack of papers and, with a grim smile, plopped them down on my desk. All blue-eyed and All- American, Matt Donovan was no sadist. He knew that I hadn't had a good cup of joe and was more irritable than usual.

Today had the been the most stressful day I'd had in a long, long, time. I woke up this morning extremely hung over from a night out at _Tapa's _with my best friends who thought I'd been a little too tense these past few days. To ease the pent up frustration of logos and logistics, I'd vouched on getting hammered with a bottle of Smirnoff in the back of my Ford Focus to prove it. We danced, we drank, we danced, we drank: the mantra continued until Bonnie was about to pass out and Caroline was nearly on her knees in front of a man twice her age. We gave the term "wasted" a whole other meaning. I can't exactly remember what I did last night, but I was firm in the fact that, unlike my friends, there was no _who. _The fact that I was completely inebriated and had no men at my feet was a red arrow to another big problem in my life. There was no "who" and therefore no "it" and it was making all my pent up frustration even more frustrating than before. I was a pretty girl, olive toned and dark haired. My brown eyes weren't exactly the _piece de la resistance. _but they were good enough to get by and get the job done. Guys typically liked looking at me, and I, for the most part, liked most guys. But the past few weeks, the only guys I'd talked to were complete assholes.

Despite the pounding headache, despite the lack luster reminder of what a farce my love-life has become, the only thing that really got me infuriated was that I'd yet to see my barista this morning.

My favorite coffee shop, _Dally's_, was right at the corner of sixth and eighth. It really is a shit hole, that I only started going to once I tasted their mocha. They hardly get any customers, but that's just how they like it. Poppy, the owner, was super nice to me, their mocha's were great, and they were by my house. Anyway, following that beautiful logic, that meant that _Dally's_ was located exactly to the left of my office building and to the right of my apartment building. Because my work place and home are within walking distance, I'm able to get up at a good five am and stop by _Dally's _for a nice, hot mocha. It's really the only reason I wake up in the morning. Rather, _he _is. Ask me what his name is and I won't know the answer. Ask me how many tattoos he has scribbled across his arms and I will tell you 17 (if you count the "x"like I do). So everyday, I walk over to him and order my mocha, half attempting to be seductive and half craving coffee. He's just so blonde hair that is perfectly coiffed and tattoos that I want to lick every inch of. He has these gray blue eyes that are framed by eyelashes that rival mine and I wonder so often if I've ever met a man so beautiful. His skin is sun-kissed, and he always wears these v-neck shirts that give me a pretty good indication of his pecs that I'd also enjoy licking.

When I ask him for my coffee, I wink at him. It's a very platonic wink, I swear. It's most definitely not a sexual or suggestive wink. It's purely based on gratitude and blooming companionship. Showing his seeming disinterest in me and my winks, he does not falter or stutter or ask me why I do it. Instead, he just smiles, Big teeth, pretty, kissable lips, and crinkly sky eyes that make my whole body tingle down to my toes. He hands me my coffee, I give it a good sip while I'm still in front of him, and then I haul ass. It's a beautiful start to all of my less than days.

Today, there was no tan skin to watch longingly, no tattoos to ponder, no eyes to gaze into and, most importantly, there was no smile, which was my favorite attribute he had.

I sigh impatiently, watching the clock slowly tick, glaring at it to somehow speed it up. Matt watches me almost dutifully as he passes, the first to stand and pace. With two steaming mugs of coffee, he places one on my desk and then leans against the desk, sipping from his cup.

"What, do you have a hot date or something?" He remarks, a teasing glint in his cerulean eyes. I avert my gaze to focus on only him and shrug.

"You could call it that," I concede, grabbing the mug gratefully. He smiles a knowing smile and shakes his head. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I'd told a fair share of people of my slight obsession.

Matt knew, but only because a couple of weeks ago, I'd practically ran down to_ Dally's_ during my lunch break to see if I could get a glimpse of the hot barista, but he was on his way out with a pretty blonde on his arm.

Who I'd like to pretend does not exist.

As much as I hated it, Matt was one of the few people who could read me like an open book. He'd known I'd had a thing for my barista but that it was also nothing concrete. Bonnie and Caroline, bless their souls, had a much nicer approach toward my activities. They were extremely sympathetic, only laughing at the funny stories of our encounters, such as when I'd dropped my coffee all over my shirt, or when I poured my coffee all over him.

Matt shook his head at me again. "You know, your problem could be solved if you struck up a conversation with him. Talk about your coffee, or something. You know April? Hot girl at the convenience store? I always, always, talked to her. This Saturday, we have a date."

I ignored his smug expression and ridiculous notions. If anyone knew my barista, you'd know that he wasn't all that talkative. I mean, he gave the other customers more lip than he'd gave me, but he was never one of those people who could not shut up.

That was me.

I wasn't going to make him uncomfortable at his workplace or make an absolute ass out of myself trying to get into his pants, either. I focus back on the clock and smile, stuffing my feet back into my shoes and lifting my large bag onto my shoulder. Matt sighs and sits back at his desk while I grab papers and my phone to take with me. I slam my chair into my desk at record time, sticking my pen into my mouth. I pull on my jacket, waving to all the other losers at their desks.

"Taking my break!" I shout out, already halfway out the door. The elevator leads down, the big door leads out, and soon I'm up close and personal with the cool Chicago breeze that brushes over me like a blanket.

I try to keep my pace even so I'm not out of breath by the time that I see him. I'm pretty sure a lot of the on lookers are pretty pissed at my efforts to get to him, but I'm not at all swayed. All I could possibly care about was seeing my barista for today, because today wasn't today without him.

I'd become accustomed to starting my day with him, but lunch time would have to work as well. I know he took his lunch at one, but it' s only twelve now so he should be here. Should I make a comment? Maybe a tiny hint to the fact that I did recognize not seeing him this morning? That would be the respectable thing to do, right?

When I see the sign of the shop, I slow my pace and try to act as natural as possible. When my feet, worn from those heels, finally meet the door, I yank it open and my ovaries sing.

He's wiping the counter with his glorious arm, and it's the one that's all tattooed and tan and sinewy and strong. I desperately want to run over and grab it, His lips, so kissable, were pursed as he worked, seemingly fixated on one spot. His shirt had risen up, and peeks were shown of his beautiful abs and chest and these were the moments I wished I could lick him.

I walk toward him, running a hand quickly through my hair, and his head snaps up to meet my gaze. Looking into his eyes, I smile quickly and hope I don't look as windswept as I feel.

"Could I get a tall mocha please?"

He barely even registers what I say before he gets to work, working the machinery like it's in his nature. I watch him as he grabs one of the cups and fills it with milk and other things to complete my drink. Only when he starts pouring do I notice he's staring at me staring at him and I've been caught. I move my eyes to the tables behind me and notice that except for us, and an old man reading a newspaper, we're pretty much alone. The old man looks between my barista and the newspaper in disbelief. He probably can't believe someone so hot works here. I can't either. I can smell the sweet smell of my drink as he slides it across the counter with a smile. Holy hell, I'm such a goner.

Reaching into my bag, I sift around for my wallet before I realize that I don't have it. There's the logo for the ad, there's the files that Matt handed me, there's my Iphone, there's a bottle of fucking water, but my wallet is not in there.

I look at him. He's watching me expectantly and my stomach drops in embarrassment. "I don't...I mean, I don't have my wallet. Can I just, be right back?"

He smiles again, and I don't know if my heart can take much more. He gives a glance to either side of him before full out grinning. "It's on the house."

His voice is silky smooth and I swear on everything that if he keeps talking I might just explode. I make this odd grunting sound and then bite my lip. I notice his gaze on the action and decide not to stop.

"Really? Oh wow, thank you so much." I reach for the mocha and the lid curls around my finger tips. I try not think that he could be getting me in trouble with the owner or something by doing this for me. When I turn to leave, however, all my thoughts fly out the window.

Almost in slow motion, the lid detaches itself from the cup and splatters all over the floor and the previously wiped down counter. Brown liquid continues to drip from the top, steaming all over and, unfortunately, not burning me alive. I don't even look at him. I _can't_ even look at him. I keep my eyes firmly on the floor, not even flinching when the scorching liquid attacks my hand. I can feel my mouth gaping open and heat rising to my cheeks. I raise my eyes to meet his, which are filled with unapologetic mirth.

"I'm so sorry," the words spill from my mouth. I place the lid on the counter and squat to the floor to clean up the mess. _You're so fucking stupid, Elena. So stupid._

He lets out a hearty laugh that makes my own heart sing. He pulls out a couple napkins and travels to the front of the counter to help me.

Soon, his body is only inches from mine, his minty sweet smell filling my nostrils. He scoops up the warm drink, but doesn't really expect me to help him because he doesn't give me a single napkin. "You know, this isn't the first time you've spilled something," he notes. My mouth opens and closes before I nod at him.

"I'm a complete klutz sometimes."

He nods at the information and stands to throw the napkins away. Eager to keep the conversation going, I continue to talk. "My parents say that as soon as I came out the womb, I tripped and fell."

He grins and chuckles, toned legs walking back toward me. This time, he carries the trash bin with him. I pick up the cup and toss it in as well. "What's the harm if there's always someone there to catch you?"I smile at his words and internally sigh.

Deciding to put a rest to the silence, I stand with him and grab a nearby towel to wipe my hands. "I'm Elena," I say evenly. "Gilbert."He watches me carefully for a moment, but then smiles.

"Stefan,"he mumbles. He looks in deep thought before he adds, "Pierce." With all the trivial things out of the way, when Stefan goes back behind the counter, I decide to hold a proper conversation with the man who has effectively ruined my life. I may never get this chance again.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

He studies me again, and whatever it is he's looking for, he sees it. He tilts his head to the side and then smiles wide. "I do talk," he says kind of indignantly. "In fact, I'm even willing to show you just how talkative I can be."

Don't show me how talkative you can be. Show me what you can do when you aren't talking.

He leans forward, one hand blindly wiping the drink off of the counter, the other gripping the edge. "I already gave you your drink, free of charge, and you spilled it." I blush. "I'm willing to be a nice guy and give you that same drink, same price, two conditions."

His tone is light and teasing, so I lean forward and flirt back, our faces almost touching. "What's that?"

He hesitates, and for a moment he adjusts back into the same indifferent barista of only minutes ago. He lifts up his index finger, swaying it side to side."You go out with me." He must see the shock on my face, because he backtracks quickly. "Just coffee. Here, if you'd like. I know I'm a stranger, but I obviously make pretty good coffee if you keep coming back. That has to give me a couple of points."

Instead of answering his question, my mouth moves on its own accord. "Points?"He shrugs but there's a hint of nervousness under his charming smile.

Hot barista man was purely a figment of my imagination. A hot piece of ass. Something to look at because I needed it every morning. The best thing about him? He was unattainable, uninterested, and had no expectations of me. Dating him would ultimately take his title of being a hot barista. It would make him Stefan.

Was I willing to look past the fact that he probably wouldn't be as perfect as I'd conjured up in my head? Yes, I was.

"Okay," I tell him, heart thundering. He raises an eyebrow.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," I continue, keeping the fourth grade vocabulary. "_Tree City Coffee_. Have you heard of that?"He nods. "I've secretly always wanted to go there. How about we meet up at three tomorrow?"

He grins and I want to kiss him so badly. "Deal."

For the first time ever, I walk out of _Dally's_ without any coffee, but completely satisfied.

Until I realize I didn't ask what the second condition was.

* * *

There comes a time after copious amounts of men that you have to realize not everything is their fault. I'd been the girl that had claimed all men were assholes except her daddy and her brother. I carried very distinct standards when it came to men and dating, because I was never one to date for sport. If we were to go on a date, I was going to tell you every thing about myself. I, of course, expected the same in return. That way, we could easily tell if we were compatible or not; if the qualities we possessed were workable or not. We didn't waste any time.

Some called me cynical and bitter, but I considered myself realistic. I was a logical girl. My mind was based on what worked and what didn't. I didn't have time for the in between. I'm impatient, and I hate wasting time. If I accept a date with you, it's because I think we have potential. That doesn't mean we'd end up together, but it surely wouldn't be your fault. I take full responsibility, typically, for any bad first dates. Only because I know how I am.

All afternoon, I'd been thinking of Stefan and I's compatibility. I was more of talker than he was, despite his protests. That could work in our favor. We also have a similar taste in loving coffee. He was ridiculously good looking, a gentleman, and he held an air of authority that you wouldn't think he had. I had a feeling this could work. At least past the first date.

Sitting at the chair in the shop, I straighten out my burgundy shirt, only slightly fidgeting from nerves. I figure with hair curled in tresses down my back, make-up done but natural, and a skirt that showed I had some killer legs, I'm bound to knock him off his pretty barista feet. I adjust myself one more time before glancing at the clock. Maybe that was the condition he was talking about. His tardiness wasn't a turn on, but there was a voice in the back of my head that knew he had a reason. The waitress comes by one more time to ask for my order, but I petulantly decline telling her that I'm waiting for my date. Again. Minutes pass, and they feel like hours. Finally, my gaze shifts to the chimes above the door to see Stefan walking in in stride. His eyes meet mine and immediately my anger melts away. Well, I melt.

He's wearing a crisp white button down that's tucked neatly into gray suit pants, which I don't question at all. His eyes are bright and happy, but there's a layer of fatigue there.

Keeping my composure, I playfully glare when he sits. "You shouldn't keep a woman waiting."

He breaks out into a full grin and sighs. "I know. I was hoping you'd be late."

"Punctuality is my strong suit," I inform him, leaning forward in my chair.

"Good thing then, because it sure as hell isn't mine."

Surprised at how easy our conversation flows, I can't even find a qualm about him. He wasn't perfect, but he made up for it in personality. I was wrong. My barista could talk, but he could also listen. I guess it is misconstrued that you could only be one or the other. He wasn't one of those guys who talked so animatedly about himself until you wanted to die. He didn't bombard you with useless facts and tales or lame jokes and pick up lines. He just listened to what I'd say, and then he'd offer up something equally enamoring that would either make me laugh or blush; two things I hadn't done for a while.

I told him about my friends, my family, my job, and how I'd developed a passion for coffee. While he didn't disclose much about himself, he did mention his best friend, Lexi, who I'm going to gleefully assume is the girl he walked out of _Dally's_ with that day. He spoke only vaguely about his family, simply stating he was an only child but wasn't lonely due to his large capacity of friends.

I found myself interested in what he had to say. It was a talent he had, I swear. He had a voice that made you want to listen.

Suddenly, I remember what plagued my mind earlier. "So earlier, when you asked me out, you never mentioned the second condition."

He smirks. "You didn't ask."

"Well, yeah," I say sheepishly, "but still. I'm asking now."

He lets out a gust of air and then folds his arms across his chest. "Forgive me."

"Forgive you for what? What did you do?"I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, placing my coffee cup on the table between us. _Please don't ruin this date. Please_.

He chuckles, "Nothing yet. That's the second condition. The first being this date."

I squint my eyes at him. "What does that mean?"

For some reason, he laughs very hard at that and shakes his head. "You drive a really hard bargain. It's admirable. Have you ever thought about getting into business?"

"Corporations, industries, assholes? No."

His smile falters a bit but he remains happy. "Why not? You have a knack for negotiating; a very logical eye," he observes carefully. Though none of my previous baristas had spoken so proper, I passed it off as me being a stereotypical bitch.

I raise an eyebrow up precariously. "I deal with a lot of that where I'm located now."He nods in acceptance of my response."Have _you_ considered getting into business?"

He regards me for a moment, before grinning again. "Aren't I already? I mean, I work at _Dally's_ which is a business. I have to deal with people in a professional, business-like manner. I have to make decisions best fit for the business such as paying for a pretty girl's coffee because she forgets her wallet." I flush. "I do all those things, and you do a lot of things, all stemming from business. The whole world is a business organization."

His evading makes me question his honesty, but there's nothing less than genuine in his eyes.

With a grin resembling a Cheshire cat, Stefan leans forward, pulling my hand swiftly into his. There's something there, a soft hum of uncertainty but familiarity that adds up to a coursing adrenaline which runs through my body. Lazily, he stirs his coffee with his straw and then settles it. When the dark brown liquid's ripples calm, he looks at me with earnest eyes that make my chest pound.

This date had been so revealing to me. His mannerisms outside of the coffee shop were so foreign to me, but comfortable to him. He sat with the statuesque of a politician or someone with a high authority. Gone was the tan sex God who gave me my mocha each morning. In his place had come a headstrong, authoritative man, who sat in his seat like he'd owned the place. Occasionally a flicker of the man I'd met previously would appear, but only when he was teasing.

I couldn't decide who I liked more: Stefan, or my barista.

"You know a lot about a lot of things," I tell him, unwrapping a warm muffin on my napkin. He watches it hungrily and holds out his hand for me to share. I quickly shake my head and he recoils into his typical demeanor.

"I know things that are resourceful to me," he gestures with his left hand idly, "I know trivial basics on the off chance that I run into someone who must know these things, so I can hold a proper conversation. Don't be coy, Elena. You know a lot of things as well."

I scoff. "Like what?"

"You know how to order good coffee. You have good taste." He holds out his mug full of mocha that I had chosen for him and grins.

I shake my head at that but can't help the laughter that bubbles in my chest, "My self esteem just skyrocketed."

We continue to sip at our drinks, only tiny sips to not rush the time we have together. His phone jingles in his pocket, and he pulls it out with an apologetic glance. While I'm usually not fond of accepting phone calls on first dates, I'm extremely fond of Stefan. Surprisingly, he merely scans the device for the callers name and then ignores it. Impressed, I give him a pointed look.

"Did you expect me to answer that?"

"Yes," I nod, "I did."

He shakes his head in disbelief. "So then I have to ask, Miss Gilbert. Who are these men who've given you such low expectations of our kind?"

I laugh at his particular word choice but then cringe at the memories. "You don't even want to know," I confide carefully. He gives me a look as if to say _later_.

"And you," I continue, "You're really different when you aren't serving coffee."

He mashes his lips together in uncertainty. "I don't think so," he says indignantly.

I smile. "You are. You're so relaxed when you're behind the counter."

"I'm much more relaxed with you," he mumbles. My eyebrows raise as he continues to ramble. He opens one eye and gazes up at me sarcastically. "Don't pretend you don't know that I...enjoy your company."

I giggle and he sighs. "I...when I'm working, I'm much more serious. Somehow, with you, I don't have the weight of the world on my shoulders."

I snort. "Coffee's supposed to relieve stress."

He smiles but it seems oddly forced. I try not to over think it, or anything he's said today. I was breaking all of my rules anyway. As soon as he told me about how he wanted me to forgive him, I should have walked away. Even now, when he looks to be hiding something, I'm still overcome with the urge to stay with him. I wonder how long it will last.

I want it to last.

Choosing my words carefully, I scratch at my jaw lightly. "Are you opposed to maybe taking this back to my apartment?"

His eyebrow shoot up and I scowl at his goofy smile. "Not like I'm intending to...never mind. You know what? Never mind." Flustered, I spin my straw rapidly in my cup, mixing at nothing.

He lets out a hearty laugh. "I'm only kidding. I'd love to go to your apartment with you. As long as you don't take advantage of me."

I giggle. "I hold no promises."

* * *

****It's a good thing I didn't hold a promise.

When we'd gotten through the front door, we were all laughs and touching and familiarity. He'd held my hand from the moment we left the cafe until we were sitting comfortably on my couch.

While I was by no means rich, I had enough to keep up all of my hobbies and sustain basic living. He said he adored my house, and that it felt a lot like me. Normally I wouldn't fall for the cliche line, but when Stefan said it, every bone in my body sizzled. His words tugged on my heart, playing it expertly and using it to its own demise, like a wickedly handsome marionette master.

I should have known that having my hot barista sitting in my house would be too much to bear.

It was after all our talking and teasing, right when the sky started to turn a deep blue, that he decided he was going to leave. He said he had to meet up with his friend, and I was so troubled by that. I mean, what would come of us? There was so much left unsaid. Were we or weren't we? Were we or weren't we _what_? What about tomorrow morning? What about how much it's going to sting when he maybe decides that he prefers me behind the counter instead.

And because we're like magnets, always finding some way to get to the other, he reads my mind and gives me the biggest reassurance of all. Right outside my door, he puts one hand on my hip, and lifts the other to cradle my face. Slowly, he traces beneath my eye, and then before I know it, the lips I've dreamed about are on mine. It's everything I've imagined plus a million and a half.

It isn't enough.

I push him down on the bed, straddling his hips and now growing erection. He groans into my neck.

"Are you sure?" He whispers, leaving butterfly kisses down my throat. Was I ready?**  
**Was I ready to have sex with the man I never actually believed to have in my bed? Was that a legitimate question?

Instead of answering, I simply rip the buttons open of his shirt, kissing down his chest until I reach the top of his stomach was so defined, and so very tan. I mean, I'd seen abs, but he had abs on top of abs. I traced the indentations with my hands, the tense ripples grazing my fingertips, and I swear I've died and gone to heaven. He revels in my touch, pushing himself further over me. I unbutton his pants, pushing them down until they were absolutely off.

With only his boxers on, he must have felt too under-dressed. I guess I had to join the club, too. He quickly flips us over so my back is nestled comfortably on the mattress. I giggle at his anxiousness as he tries, desperately to get my bra off.

"Need help?" I laugh. He scowls at me, before completely breaking the clasp all together. It was my favorite bra, so I could definitely feel myself getting pissed. Until his mouth lowered onto my breast.

"Oh God," I moan out. While it was a bit too porn star-ish for my taste, Stefan ate it all up. He worked diligently to elicit that same sound. As he lapped at my nipple, his hand ran down my stomach until I could feel them right where I needed it most.

In that moment, I was his, and he was mine.

My body squirmed and arched as he touched me, whimpers and moans escaping despite my protests. Stefan ground himself against my leg, and I wrapped my arms around his neck for support. Every thought leaves my mind while he works except his name. I could never forget his name, because it continues to leave my mouth like rapid fire. I scratch at his back, running my hands up and down the smooth plates until he shudders. I was ready, and I wanted him. In me, over me, around me, beneath me...there was nothing more I'd ever want.

His hand moves, and then he replaces it with what I need much more.

Panting.

Hands roaming.

Groaning.

Moaning.

Lips kissing.

Grunting.

Everywhere.

It's all consuming, and I never want the feeling to stop. We're in a vicious cycle, bodies sliding slick with sweat. One of his hands tangles with mine, and he holds it so tightly like he never wants to let go. He kisses down my neck and works over me repeatedly until I come apart in his arms. White flashes behind my eyelids, and I feel my body literally shut down. With a final moan of his name, my orgasm quickly overtakes me.

He thrusts in only two more times until he's falling apart too, all grunts and groans.

He lay, sated, until he starts lazily drawing mindless shapes on my body. I close my eyes, and realize that I'd never been this intimate with a guy. I'd had sex before, but it was never like this. It was never..._passionate_. The deliberate touches, the need to feel each other was never there. It was with Stefan. I had a feeling it would always be with Stefan.

It isn't until hours later, when he wakes me up, hard and waiting at my side, that I realize I may always be Stefan's too.**  
**

* * *

****This time, I'm the one pacing the office floor. I get up, run to the coffee machine, fill up my cup and then repeat.

I was definitely on a coffee high. Well, a coffee man high. Since this morning when Stefan had left my house with only kisses due to my sore body, I'd been walking on cloud nine. I'm sure the office could see the happiness radiating off of me, but also the anxiousness as well.

Matt watches, bemused, as I scamper around our workspace. I barely acknowledge his judging stare, only really looking at him when I hand him back a file. We all sit in a muted silence for the longest time before Matt finally speaks up.

"What's gotten into you?"

I really want to tell him what truly _has _gotten into me, but I did have a very salient rule about not kissing and telling. Like I said, I radiate with my after sex glow; it's not like he didn't know what gotten into me. I glower at his snarky tone and then reach my hand out over my desk to grab the pot of coffee. Carefully, I pull the blessed drink into my mug and take a big gulp.

Fed up with my silence, Matt snaps again. "Are you going to answer me?"

"No."

He huffs at my lack luster response and returns to his magazine he was reading. I flip over one of the ads I was working on and begin to count hours once again.

It's been a good 7 hours since I've seen Stefan.

Only 1 more hour until I'm able to see him again.

I can't fight the smile that takes over my face. I do relish into the fact that my head spins over a guy. I haven't ever been head over heels before, and it feels good to actually really like someone and feel a connection with them. I didn't expect it to happen, but it did.

I open up my phone and debate on whether or not I should text him. I missed him a lot. So much, in fact, that I'd already drafted three different messages I could never quite send off.

"Ha!" Matt yells out, bringing me out of my day dream. "It's official!" I don't bother looking at him as I stare at my phone. He reads _Forbes_ every day, and I wonder if he ever gets bored of reading about people who can wipe their asses with money. I begin to type a message:

_Hey. I miss you._

Too clingy_._

Defeated, I save the draft and exit out of my phone. I desperately try to finish the ad so that I can get out for lunch early, but Matt blabbers on to one of the office workers, Tyler, who actually listens to the shit that spurts out his mouth.

"It's crazy man," he exclaims. "He's taking shares and taking names."

Against my better judgment, I lean backward to face the two of them. Tyler raises an eyebrow at my entrance but Matt continues on like he hasn't stopped.

I cut him off mid-sentence. "What are you talking about?"

"Stefan Salvatore," he says concisely. I shake my head and sigh. There was only one Stefan I care about, and he had nothing to do with _Forbes_, only my mocha's.

"Interesting," I lie effortlessly. Matt yanks the magazine from Tyler and opens the page for me to view. As soon as the picture of the man in question is in my line of vision, my blood runs cold. Because right there, one hand in the hand of our senator, and one in a pants pocket, is my barista.

A suit fits his body, probably tailored just to fit him. His eyes, the grey ones I'd looked into only hours ago, were crinkled at the sides from his bright but tense smile. He looked proud, he looked strong, and he looked powerful. He looked nothing like the man who made my coffee, and only somewhat like the man who took me to coffee yesterday. He looked ridiculously handsome, as much as it hurt to think it.

"Who-," I sputter, "Who is that?" That wasn't a complete lie. I had no idea who the man on this page was. He was just another man, with no connection to me at all. I knew nothing about him, other than the fact that he was a liar.

Matt does a double take and then shakes his head in disbelief. "Stefan Salvatore?" I wince at his name. _Stefan Pierce. God, I'm so stupid._

I nod at him for him to continue, but Tyler butts in. "Head of Salvatore Industries. He relocated from New York to buy out more companies, I'm guessing. His company is world renown, a shark among fish so to speak. What gets it is he's so young and he built the company up by himself. Man's insane. He made some bomb ass investments and now here he is."

I try to soak up as much of the information as I can, but I almost throw up trying. It's no wonder he was so passionate about business. I insulted his career right in front of him. I want the floor to swallow me hole.

Matt interrupts him. "Anyway, he is officially the wealthiest man in Chicago."

I keep my gaze fixated on the floor for a long time just thinking. Stefan lied to me. He lied to me right to my face. He slept with me, and he didn't even have the audacity to give me his real fucking name. I feel used, I feel dirty, I feel angry, but most of all, I feel hurt. I let my walls down. He was the exception to all the boulders I'd erected around my heart to make sure I didn't ever feel this way. He was why I always was cautious. With him, I threw caution to the wind and now I want to cry. Why do people care about other people when all it does is hurt you? Why do we continually try to love when all it ends up doing is turning around and becoming a weapon? I trusted him. I did. I shouldn't have, but I did with my whole heart. I wanted him to be good.

I guess this is life's way of telling me you can't trust anyone in this world.

Not even your barista.

Forgetting the ad, I grab my jacket and all my belongings and pull out of my chair. "Where are you going?" Matt cries. "You don't have a break until another hour."

I ignore him, past the phase of feeling bad for myself. I only wanted to focus on the anger as I made my way down from my building. I wanted to focus on how he was a bastard and how he should suffer for it. I pushed open the doors and took a huge gulp of fresh air before starting my trek to _Dally's._ It all made sense now. Well, some of it. He worked at _Dally's_, which was no_ Starbucks_. Hardly anyone went there, in fact, before him, it almost went out of business. But the few people who did come in, like that old man when he asked me out, they looked at him like they'd seen him before. Like they were trying to place a name to a face. How he was able to give me that coffee on the house, and how different he was acting at coffee with me. When he looked at me, he always looked at me like I was going to snap. He looked like I was going to realize who he was.

But there were still things that didn't make any sense. Like how he even works at a dingy coffee shop. Furthermore, why he felt he need to lie. I want to believe that there was a better reason than wanting to make a fool out of me.

When I open the front door to _Dally's_, I regret coming. I don't have my usual optimistic outlook. I'm pissed, and I'm pretty sure I'm crying. The whole shop is empty, but I hear footsteps as I wipe the damn tears from my face and sniffle. _It's not a big deal, Elena. _

Except it was.

"Elena," his voice still doesn't fail to make me weak. "What's wrong?" I feel him coming closer to me and his arms begin to move. As bad as it is, I want his arms around me. I do.

"Don't touch me," I bite out, my voice wavering. I open my eyes and he looks at me curiously, before realization dawns. He goes from confused to guilty in a matter of seconds. It didn't matter anymore. I already decided that I'm done. No amount of apologies will ever fix this. Ever.

"You know."His voice cracks at the statement. "Let me explain."

"No," I hiss angrily. I sniffle and then wipe my cheeks. " I don't want you to tell me that this is real because I know it's not. I don't say it often, but I know I'll never have that real thing, and to be honest I never wanted it." _Until now._ I take a step backwards, and he mirrors me and takes one forward.

"All I want to know is why. Why you felt the need to selfishly lie about something like this. Is this a joke? What, do you want to buy out the company I work for?"

His face hardens into the business man I saw on those pages. "Stop," he demands strongly.

I continue. "Do you get some twisted enjoyment out of pretending to be something you're not? Role playing, huh?"

"Elena, I said stop." His face remains frozen. I hate it. I hate that he can hide everything he's feeling and that everything that I feel is broadcast in my tears.

"I bet you're so happy some little whore gave it up to you at her fucking house like you were some God."

His face contorts. "Fucking stop! You know that isn't true. Why are you saying this? "

I burst. "You didn't trust me! I trusted you! I trusted you and I never trust anybody!" He must see the hurt in my face because he closes his eyes and breathes before he speaks again.

He starts in a softer tone. "Elena, it wasn't about that."

"Did you trust me at all?"

He hesitates. "I can't...I can't dole out trust like that. When I got to know you, yes. I did."

"And you didn't think it would be nice to tell me? Or did you find that out when you were using me in my own bedroom?"

He purses his lips. "Stop saying untrue things."

"Stop lying!" I yell. I'm hysterical. "Stop telling me things and acting like you give a shit about me when you don't. What are you even doing here? What kind of a billionaire works at a low rate coffee shop?"

He sighs and digs his hands into his pockets. "I had every intention of buying this place when I arrived here. I was speaking to the owner behind the counter, and when you walked in, you mistook me for a worker. I asked Poppy if I could work here occasionally. Because of you. I paid off this place's debts, I came in here instead of the office everyday, so I could get a glimpse of you. Even if I never said anything. I know I wasn't honest with you. But I told you there was a second condition and you agreed. I _warned_ you."

He speaks so calmly, but I'm still shaken, and not at all effected by what he says. All the words leave my body as soon as they register. I'm numb. I'm done.

I let out a sardonic laugh and shake my head. "You know, for a business man, you're not very smart."

He squares his shoulders and eyes me carefully, waiting for my next move.

"You should always get agreements down in paper," I state.

That's the last time I walk out of _Dally's_ for four months.

* * *

There isn't anything very cheerful about Christmas. I mean, there was snow, which was pretty. There was also the aspect of putting up trees and then hanging decorations on them. All of it was very beautiful, including the family aspect of it all.

Other than that, it was nothing special.

I was spending Christmas alone this year, because getting out to my parents was too much of a hassle. As much as I was dying to see my little brother again, I couldn't risk it with all the snow. Chicago is a while away from Washington, and right now I think a phone call would be the safest bet.

I rumbled around in the top drawer of my dresser for my phone, spotting it in the left corner with a triumphant grunt. Opening it up, I saw that there were absolutely no missed calls or texts, which basically meant everyone was okay.

Caroline went home with her new boyfriend, Klaus, to go meet his parents. Bonnie had taken her longtime boyfriend, Damon, with her to a getaway cabin. My parents were probably at home with my brother, celebrating the Christmas cheer, and I was home alone with a glass of wine and popcorn.

Things could be worse.

I tuck my phone into the pocket of my sweat pants and stomp my way into the living room. Right as _Titanic _began to play on my television, A hard knock resounded into my apartment door. I sighed, and decided whoever it was, it probably wasn't worth it. Maybe carolers. Getting up wasn't in my agenda for the day. Playing dead, however, was the main event. I rolled over on the couch and hit play.

I grabbed a handful of popcorn and jammed it into my mouth, chewing loudly. The knock begins again, this time rougher and more agitated. I growl and slam the popcorn bowl to the side of me. Pushing myself off the couch, I take my sweet time to answer whoever this obnoxious asshole was.

I yank the door open, but then stagger back when I see the face on the other side.

"You quit your job," he says flatly.

It was the same face that, now that I'd seen once, had haunted me the past few months. He was as beautiful and handsome as always, but he had bags under his eyes from stress or lack of sleep. It was the first time I'd seen him up close, dressed up. He was in a tuxedo, and he looked like the man in the photo. There was no anger from the memory now. Only sadness. He stood, both hands inserted into his pockets, his stature even and bold. Ever since I'd left the coffee shop, I wondered if he still worked there. I wondered if he maybe still went in the hopes of me coming back. I never imagined him seeing me again like this. Not at my house, in my _Scooby Doo_ pajamas. Words fail me, so he pulls forward, letting himself into my home.

So this is the controlling, powerful man I never met.

I decide to answer his question with a more important question. "Have you been following me?"

He scoffs as he looks down at a picture of my family and I. I pull it out of his hands. "No," he starts, "I have not been following you. I check up on you, to make sure you're doing okay."

My blood boils. "You have no right to do that."

He ignores me. "How are you going to pay your apartment off with no job?"

I growl at him. "Leave."

For the first time since he'd arrived, he looks me straight in the eyes. When I look into them, I see the man who slaved over a coffee machine everyday to make my mocha's. I see the hot guy I winked at for fun. The guy I never thought I would get.

I did.

Even if it was short-lived.

"Stefan," I say softly, finished with the fighting. "What do you want?"

His hard exterior begins to crumble, and the mask on his face starts to melt. He takes a tentative step toward me. When he sees that I haven't backed away, he moves closer until we're touching. I don't think when his hand moves up to my face. It's like suddenly the time between us has faded and we're back in my bedroom months ago, rolling around together. It's like we never missed anything. Except we have.

He tilts his head to the side and watches me for a second. He clears his throat and then pulls back. I hate that I miss his touch already. I shouldn't. Stefan isn't finished though, because he pulls my hand into his. Intertwined. Connected.

"When I was eight years old, I wanted to be a police officer because they help people. That was it. It was simple. It was a goal, and a reason. As a child, you don't think about all the factors. Like maybe the fact that you don't like hurting people when you have to, or you can't shoot a gun. You just think you want to be a police officer and it's a possibility so you hope."

I don't have any idea what he's talking about, but I listen anyway, because most of the things Stefan says end up with something. He outwardly struggles to get his next words out, rushing through them. "My parents died two years later in a car accident. I didn't want to be a police officer anymore. I wanted to be a doctor. That way, I could save all the other little boy's parents who wouldn't make it home for dinner. Now I had a goal and a stronger reason, but I still didn't care about the other remaining factors. Like how I hate blood. It wasn't until I got older and reality set in that I found out factors matter. I wish they didn't, though. I wish you could like something or want something and nothing else mattered at all. I got into business because of factors. I was good at calculating and making decisions. I have no real reason. But I have a goal. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

A little bit. My heart was pounding so fast, but I wanted to understand him. His eyes pleaded for me to understand. He closes his mouth and then opens it just as quickly. "When I met you, there were no factors. I just saw a pretty girl, and I didn't think about the repercussions of being a barista instead of going to work, or the fact that you may not even like me. I didn't think of you knowing who I was and just wanting to date me for my money or you not knowing my real name. Elena, we had a lot of factors. I was blind to them, just like when I was a kid. I just wanted you, and so I tried to get you. Factors be damned. I don't usually do things like that. But I liked how it felt when I was like that with you."

He moved his hand from mine to my cheek once again. This time I openly accepted his touch, leaning in. He leans in toward my face and begins to whisper. "I was selfish. I was impulsive." His eyebrows furrow. "I was wrong. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Elena."

I want to hug him, I want to kiss him, but I know that won't be good. I know if I let myself get involved so closely right now, I'll end up in tears. So I nod.

"Are you alone on Christmas?"

I nod again.

"Do you want to be?"

Because we're magnets, and because of how close we are, I know it's more than just a question of how I want to spend my holidays. It's a question about us. Do I want to try again? Am I ready to delve back into an unknown world with a guy I think I know but may not? Not blindly, not stupidly like before, but I think I may be. I think I can try.

So I look into my baristas eyes and I smile, before I lean in and plant my lips against his.

After all, I like to take a morally acceptable stance on spoken agreements. I agreed to that stupid second condition, and I'd have to live by it. Maybe this wasn't it, or maybe we weren't going to last forever.

But right now, he is everything I need and more. Him and his stupid conditions.

* * *

**Forgive me for any mistakes because this is not beta-ed. CMD is with my beta right now, and has been for a while. It should be done soon. RWY is almost finished and will be updated within the week. For more info, follow ezonthewriting on twitter or follow the link on my profile.**

**As you can see, this could easily be adapted into a full length story in the future, in case I ever want to come re-visit these two.**

**Thank you for reading!**


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